


Penance

by SqrrlgrrlM



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqrrlgrrlM/pseuds/SqrrlgrrlM
Summary: Ten years on, how might that meeting go?
Relationships: Claire/Klare (Fleabag), Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My brain decided I needed two stories to work on instead of one. Maybe starting to get this one out will mean there’s brain space to finish the other one.

Her arrival at Dad’s summer house in Jugon les Lacs in France was heralded by shrieks of “Aunt Emma’s here! Aunt Emma’s here!” and a stampede of blonde-haired midgets who immediately surrounded her and began making demands. She had to admit, it was nice to be wanted, especially by her horde of - okay, four - nieces and nephews. Claire had gotten divorced, remarried, and preggers all within a year’s time and then spent the next nine years in various states of procreation. She said she hated being pregnant. Claire  _ loved _ being pregnant. She was currently incubating child #5, swearing it’ll be the last. Privately, Emma thought Claire was trying to field a whole football team. 

“Back you beasts! Back!” She mock-glared at them. “ If you don’t give way I’ll return all of the gifts I brought you and get a mani-pedi instead!”   
  


“But we just love you so much Aunt Emma,” Clarice (and didn’t she torment Claire mercilessly about  _ that _ name), the oldest, said sweetly. “And we missed you!” the boys chimed in. The trio aimed cherubic smiles her way. Adorable. 

They were obviously Klare made over. 

Isla, six going on forty-five, just glared at her, her expression 100% Claire. “You’re late.” Emma would never, ever admit it, not under pain or torture or bad hair cut, but Isla was her favorite. There was something about a mini-Claire that made her heart sing with joy. Plus, Isla was even more fun to wind up than her mother. She supposed she should feel ashamed for winding up a five year old, but really, most days she herself wasn’t any older, mentally, than a mature 11. 

“I can’t possibly be late. I wasn’t even coming, remember?” 

She sniffed disapprovingly. “Mum said you’d say that.” Emma cackled internally.

Clarice, ever the peace-maker, admonished her sister with a shake of her finger, “Isla, don’t be mean to Aunt Emma! We barely ever get to see her (Lie. Emma visited once a month) and she’s not going to want to visit if you’re always fussing. C’mon Aunt E, everyone’s in the garden.”

The boys grabbed her bag - she’d packed light - and she followed Clarice towards the garden. 

Dad and Godmother had bought the property in France as a summer home shortly after their wedding. They’d begun spending more and more time in it over the last few years and she wouldn’t be surprised if they moved there permanently within the next ten. She had to grudgingly admit that it was a beautiful property. The main house was French country on the outside and Dad and Godmother’s eclectic taste on the inside. The old carriage house was the art studio/gallery and the grounds were beautifully landscaped. She frequently escaped to the paths and hidden grottoes when she visited. She’d come to terms with her relationship with her father thanks to years of therapy. Godmother? Well, that was more like  _ detente _ . There hadn’t been open hostility since the wedding, but the two of them would never get along and it was best for everyone involved if they spent as little time together as possible. Godmother would always resent her for being a constant reminder of Margaret and she would always resent Godmother for being a cunt. 

She was about to step through the little gate that led to the garden when Claire came waddling around the corner. 

“You’re late.” 

“Hello to you, too. God, are you sure there’s only one baby in there? Aren’t you only six months? You look like you’re about to pop!” She hugged her sister (they hugged now. Awkwardly, but still - hugs) gave her belly a quick rub just to irritate her, then planted a kiss on her forehead. “You look lovely by the way.” She meant it. 

Claire blushed and swatted away the compliment. “You’re lying, but thanks. Look, I’m not sure if Dad told you about the  _ festivities... _ oh. Oh shit!” Claire’s face had taken on a decidedly green hue and she waddled off towards the house as fast as she could. 

“Mum throws up a lot.” Cade, at eight, took a great deal of pleasure in relating that tidbit of information, going so far as to mime the action, though she was fairly certain that Claire didn’t resemble an automatic weapon discharging when she sicked up. However, never having been pregnant herself, she couldn’t swear to it. Pregnancy was weird. 

She continued on to the garden, escorted by the babbling blonde horde, being regaled by all the adventures she’d missed since she last saw them and exhorted to join in their next caper. She had brought them each a little surprise and looked forward to whiling away the evening hours playing pirate or marauder or whatever terror they dreamed up. 

The falsely solicitous voice of her Godmother broke through the children’s clamor. “There you are, darling. So glad you could join us for the occasion. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.” Godmother floated over and kissed her cheeks, social smile painted on. 

She espied her father and someone else - Klare, she assumed, the hoodie he had pulled up made  it difficult to see - ambling towards them, deep in conversation.  _ Klare can win anyone over,  _ she thought with a smile. As much as she had hated Martin, she adored Klare. He made her sister happy and she would love him even if she found out he clubbed baby seals or single-handedly outlawed masturbation. 

“Oh, but where is Penelope? I hope she’s not ill!” The false concern was sickening. 

The children took that opportunity to chant “Penny! Penny! Penny!”

She turned her attention back to her Godmother and tried not to show any emotion. The trick with Godmother was to avoid giving her any ammunition. 

“We broke up, actually.” The pronouncement was met with gasps and cries of denial from the Finland crew, who ruthlessly took advantage of “Pennapee’s” fondness for children. 

Godmother tutted. “I really thought this one might last. She was so...unusual. Just perfect for you. Didn’t you think they made just the most delightfully odd couple, darling?” Godmother turned to Dad with that provoking little smile that was  _ just _ this side of polite. Emma kept her eyes laser-focused on Godmother while Dad stuttered through his non-response. 

“Well, er, yes, Penelope was, ah…” 

“I’ve been busy with the cafés, working a lot. Penny wanted a little more routine. It was all amicable. She’s still consulting on the countertops for the Soho location.” 

“So the café is doing well, then?” asked a familiar, lilting voice she hadn’t heard in over a decade. She rotated towards that voice and saw that the man she thought was Klare was actually her Priest, the one she had fallen in love with in another life. 

He smiled. “Hello there.”

“Hi?” she tilted her head to the side. 

“Emma, you remember Father James, don’t you? He presided over our wedding.”

“Yes, I remember now. Nice to see you again, Father.” She held out her hand and was surprised when he actually reached over and shook it, enfolding her hand between both of his. His touch sent a familiar buzz up her arm. 

“Likewise.” He withdrew his hands and tucked them into the pockets of his hoodie. 

The children, bored with the adults, began tugging at her hands and the hem of her shirt, anxious to drag their favorite playmate off for an afternoon of adventure. 

“Children!” Claire’s voice rang out from the garden entrance. “That is no way to behave. Leave Aunt Emma a few minutes to get settled.” The children quieted, though there was a faint air of mutiny in their tiny faces. “Then you can attack.” They brightened and ran off deeper into the garden with a parting Woop!

Klare - the real one this time - escorted his wife down the path, a gentle hand cupping her elbow. 

“Dear sister! You have arrived! We have missed you!” He deposited his wife next to her father and swept Emma up, laughing, into a giant bear hug. 

“Aw, I missed you too, Klare! But what have you done to my sister?! I swear, I’m getting her a chastity belt for Christmas this year!” Claire blushed and Klare laughed. 

“It is not me! My Claire, she is insatiable! I do not dare disrobe in front of her for fear she will eat me alive!” He curled his hands into a semblance of bear claws and growled, then gave his wife a resounding kiss on the cheek and cuddled her close. She made a token protest and pretended at embarrassment, but the pleased little smile she wore gave her away, if you knew how to look. 

“You say the same about me, don’t you darling?” Godmother drew her fingers down Dad’s arm as he smiled and ducked his head. Emma and James shared an amused look. Godmother noted it and hated it. “So I guess with Penelope gone we’ll be meeting  _ lots _ of new lovers again? Commitment is such hard work. I admire your ability to flit from romance to romance.”

She took a calming breath. “Actually, I think I’m just going to focus on the cafés for a while. They’re a lot of work and I haven’t really had the time to go out. No one finds endless discussions about sales models and supply chain challenges interesting and that’s the sum total of my conversational ability at the mo.”

“Good for you. Keep your chin up. Not everyone is meant for long-term relationships. I’m sure Claire would  _ love _ to have you stay with her when you’re older. It’ll be just like when you were girls!” She clapped her hands in feigned delight. “Speaking of commitment, your father and I decided to renew our vows for our tenth anniversary.” Emma had to do the math, but yup! Ten years. Damn. Evil must be hard to kill after all. “Father has graciously agreed to officiate again.” James nodded his head affably, and Emma caught him trying to peek at her out of the corner of his eye. “Everyone will arrive tomorrow evening at five and we’ll have a little reception after. Now please excuse me, dears, I feel a little artistic inspiration coming on and need to go to my studio.” 

She sailed off, husband in tow, leaving everyone else to stare after her. 

The Priest cleared his throat. “Hm. Well, that was…”

“Shite. That was shite. Emma, ignore her.”

She waved off Claire’s concern. “Eh, it’s fine. She’s said worse.”

Klare reached over to squeeze her shoulder. “I am so sorry to hear about Penelope. We liked her a great deal.”

She could practically feel the Priest’s eyes boring into her. “It’s fine,” she repeated. “Really.” Claire looked like she was about to question her further but the children appeared to claim her for the promised adventure. “These ragamuffins and I have some scrapes to get into. Don’t hold dinner - we’ll raid the kitchen later. Bye!”

She beat a hasty retreat and committed herself to hours of devising escapades - which was a lot more fun than being pitied by your sister or avoiding an extraordinary sort-of ex you hadn’t thought you’d ever see again. 

If her life was an emoji, it would be the facepalm one. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What’s going on?

The Priest being there had thrown her off at first, but she utilized a few techniques she had learned in therapy and put it out of her mind until later when thinking about it wouldn’t take her out of the glorious  _ now _ she got to spend with the children she loved. 

  
  


Godmother’s one saving grace was that she adored Claire’s children. Emma took full and complete advantage of this fact and spent a very enjoyable afternoon running riot with the Horde through all the places she normally wasn’t allowed. The vegetable garden became their jungle, the guest house an impenetrable fortress of evil. “Priceless” statues were attacked, climbed, or dressed - whatever the game currently being played dictated. They raided the pantry, stealth mode engaged, for a picnic under the stars. 

She rounded them all up and marched them inside for bath and a bedtime story when Isla and Arlo began to droop.

After kissing their little heads, she slipped quietly out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. She had just turned to head to her own room for a much-needed bath when the Priest’s soft, lilting voice came purring out of the shadows, stopping her in her tracks. 

“I wouldn’t have pictured you as the doting aunt. At least not until they could reach the bar.” He stepped out from around the corner, a familiar half-smile on his face. Had he been waiting for her? 

“Have to get them while they’re young,” she responded breezily. “Besides, I’ll need someone to care for me in my dotage. Gods know  _ I’m  _ never having kids of my own. The Claires won’t need  _ all _ of them. They’ll do all the work, and I’ll reap the benefits. Just have to be Super Aunt every once and while and *poof* I’m in.”

He came closer, stopping a scant arms-length away from her. He tilted his head, eyes locked on hers. “Join me for a drink?”

She swallowed nervously. “I was actually just about to get a bath and…”

“Please.” Gods. He was so damn irresistible. She nodded her assent. “Okay?” Was that a smirk at the corner of his mouth or just the way the light and shadow was sculpting his face? Hard to tell. If she knew for a fact it was a smirk she wouldn’t feel like a coward for fleeing to her room. Since she couldn’t be sure...

“Okay.”

He smiled and rubbed his hands together like the little gremlin he was. 

The house was dark and quiet as they made their way downstairs. Claire had gone to bed at 7 and Emma had sent Klare off right behind her, hoping to give them both a bit of quiet time together. Dad and Godmother were in their wing of the house, doing gods knew what. 

He flicked on the light in the kitchen and turned to her. “G&T’s?” His smile was conspiratorial. 

“Ah, no thanks. I want to keep it light for tomorrow’s festivities.” She made a beeline for the bottle of serviceable Chenin Blanc hanging out in the fridge

ignoring his look of disappointment. She grabbed the bottle by the neck and swiped a goblet before settling on a bar stool to wait for him. 

She knew he was approaching when she heard the crack of the can opening behind her. She turned to watch him. Her memories were good, but they didn’t compare to the reality. Time seemed to have passed him by for the most part. His hair had noticeable strands of silver now. There were more lines around his eyes and mouth. Other than that, he looked the same. The long-sleeved Kelly green Henley was snug in all the right places, showing off his well-muscled arms and shoulders. His tailored grey trousers did the same for his thighs and, she was certain, his arse. She’d have to check on that later. She met his eyes as she took a sip of wine. 

“Well,” he asked as he sat beside her, “What do you think?” He spread his arms out and preened for a moment before taking a drink. 

She lifted her glass in salute and quirked her lips into a smile.

“Really? Ten years and that’s all I get?” 

She shrugged. She wasn’t sure where her voice had gone. It wasn’t as if she had spent ten years pining for him. She hadn’t put her life on hold. She never expected him to see him again, not really.

She met his eyes as he appraised her in turn, wondering what he saw. She, too, sported more lines around her mouth and eyes. There would be a few silver threads hiding in the curls and waves of her hair if Antony hadn’t worked his magic. She would age gracefully, but on her terms, thank you very much! Her body was still long and lean - she had started running in earnest a few years ago and kept up the habit. It helped her stay on her feet at the café and, oddly enough, helped her quiet her overactive brain. Almost like meditation. While she would have liked to have been dressed in something slinky and sexy, or at least have had time to bathe, she’d have to be content with the fact that her burgundy turtleneck fit like a dream and made her breasts look fucking fantastic. 

After he finished his once-over, he raised his glass to her in turn, a sardonic smile on his lips. 

They drank in silence for a moment but she knew the silence wouldn’t last; he was incapable of it, especially when it came to her. 

“You look...amazing.” 

“So do you.” He grinned his imp-grin and she couldn’t resist smiling back at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Your Godmother asked if I would officiate the vow renewals and I agreed.”

She looked at him, confused and curious. “Why...would you do that?”

He cocked his head to the side and took a moment to answer. “I’d like to say it was for symmetry or some other deeply spiritual and meaningful bullshit, but that would be a lie.” 

“Oooh-kay.”

**“** Truth is…” he ran his hands nervously through his hair then drummed his fingers on the countertop, unable to sit still. “Truth is…”

She covered his hands with her own, squeezing gently until he met her eyes. He sighed and turned his hands palm up so he could twine their fingers together. 

“Truth is...it hasn’t passed. At all. And I needed to see you. See if there was even the slightest chance that...that…what we had might still be there.” He looked at her with hopeful eyes. 

The Emma of ten years ago wouldn’t have even let him finish his sentence before climbing into his lap intent on riding him to death before sunrise. But ten years had wrought a lot of changes, one of which was knowing her own value and the needs of her heart. And right now her heart needed time. Time to think over this possibility that she’d never let herself imagine. She hadn’t pined over him, it’s true, but her heart had taken quite the beating and she wasn’t sure she was willing to expose it so fully just yet. There were still so many things she didn’t know. Like what about his vows? She needed more time, more information. So she leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth and stood up. 

“That’s…a lot to think about.” He nodded, hands still tangled in hers. “I think...I think I need some time.”

He nodded again. “Okay.”

She pulled her hands away, put the bottle back in the fridge and turned to head back upstairs. 

“Good night,” he whispered softly, making her heart squeeze painfully. She met his eyes and, unable to stop herself, took three long strides to stand in front of him, cupping his face in her hands and tilting it up so she could cover his lips with her own in a searing kiss. His arms wrapped around her waist and he spread his knees further apart so he could pull her tight against him. He opened his mouth to her questing tongue and moaned as she licked and sucked and tasted him. He whimpered when she pulled away and tried to bring her back, but she retreated quickly, calling back a breathless “Good night,” determined to get back to her room before she did something she’d regret. 

After her bath, she drifted off to sleep, wondering what the next day would bring. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma reflects.

She rose with the dawn, or some other similarly poetic bullshit. Well, she got out of bed at dawn. Her run-in with James the day before had her tossing and turning, despite being exhausted from travel and the subsequent shenanigans with the children. She put on her joggers, a tee, and a hoodie and headed to the garden for her morning run. 

At this time of the morning it was chilly outside and mist clung to the ground as if reluctant to give way to the daylight. Obscured by the fog and the last vestiges of night, the statuary gave the garden an otherworldly feel. The magical feeling was banished as soon as she turned on her running music. Late 90s and early Aughts pop music was fantastic to run to but not very...fantastic. She concentrated on her breathing and her pace and tuned everything out until it was just her and the path. 

That lasted for maybe a whole five minutes. While running had been a mostly meditative practice for her in the last several years, the end of her relationship with Penelope and the reappearance of James in her life had left her feeling unsettled and she couldn’t help how her mind wandered back over the last ten years. 

***

She grieved the end of her relationship-that-wasn’t with the Priest and did a fair bit of wallowing. While her heart had been broken before, it was never because of a lover. Mum’s death broke her heart. Then Boo’s. Dad choosing Godmother over her - heartbreaking, but not unexpected. Claire choosing Martin over her - that had fucked her up so badly it took nearly a year to get over. She had fallen so fast and so hard for James that she didn’t even realize she was properly in love until he rejected her at the bus stop. The first time. Then, before she could really even come to terms with it, he was gone and she was left with a broken heart that caught her as completely by surprise as Boo’s death and Claire’s abandonment had. But James’ loss was different because he had actually  _ seen _ her. Seen her and loved her but found her wanting enough that he chose his imaginary friend over her. She knew that she was being unfair, but fuck it, she had learned through truly staggering amounts of therapy that if she didn’t stick up for herself, no one would. Not in any way that mattered. And it started with the self-talk in her head.

But, she picked herself up, dusted herself off, and got on with it. She dated here and there. Even had sex on occasion, though therapy helped her limit it to instances where actual  _ feelings _ were involved. Mostly. She made exceptions when the date was exceptionally hot. She and Belinda went out when the latter was in town for business. Belinda started mentoring Emma and introducing her to other small business owners that she knew. Slowly, she started to make real, actual friends. No one like Boo, of course, but people who did actually care about her. And, surprisingly, she cared about them, too. 

She met Darius during one of her veg trips to the Farmer’s Market. He was an artist working in acrylics and clay and several of his works caught her eye when she passed his booth. They started talking and she found that he was funny and quick and my god! the abs on that man. They dated for an entire year before they both realized that, while they absolutely did adore one another, they weren’t going to make it as a long term couple. They had each kept their own flats - which should have been a clue - so it was really just a matter of trading back what they had left at the other’s. He was still a close friend and, to her never-ending delight, loathed her Godmother nearly as much as she did. She brought him to all Godmother’s exhibitions just to have someone to snark about them with. 

There were several people after Darius. Some lasted months and some just a few dates. And then a gorgeous blonde with the most fascinating green eyes she’d ever seen came into the café and ordered the sweetest, most vile coffee concoction on the menu and she was utterly smitten. Penelope did carpentry and interior design. She was sunshine to Emma’s cynicism but never in an annoying way. She genuinely liked people and would spend weeks getting to know someone before creating a design for them, whether she was crafting a small side table or planning their entire home. Penelope threw her whole heart into everything she did and brought Emma along for the ride. Plus, the sex was...so good. So fucking phenomenally good. 

Her entire family adored Penny and even Godmother could find no fault with her, though she did often marvel that Emma managed to catch a spirit as bright and attractive as Penelope’s (her words). For five years she was the happiest she had ever been. So of course it couldn’t last. 

They were talking about buying a place together. Somewhere with enough space for Pen to have a workshop and Emma to have a true home office now that she was expanding Hilary’s to a second location. Penelope mentioned she’d like a large garden for their children and the discussion came to a screeching halt. Emma was adamant that she didn’t want children. She loved her nieces and nephews but had no desire for any of her own, biological or otherwise. Penelope had assumed that Emma would want children since she absolutely doted on Claire’s. They talked and argued and made up and argued more and in the end it was a dealbreaker. Penelope wanted children and Emma didn’t and there was no getting around it, no matter how much they loved each other. 

They had split months ago but she hadn’t told her family. She didn’t want her Godmother’s weaponized pity or Claire’s concern. She had grieved in her own, much more well-adjusted now, thank you! way and was getting on with it. Again. And then the Priest showed up. 

***

The last strains of Britney’s  _ Toxic _ were playing as she made the sharp final corner on her way back to the house and ran into someone running in the opposite direction. Luckily she was at her cool down pace and they weren’t going that fast, but something - elbow? shoulder maybe? - cracked her in the nose and she dropped to her knees seeing stars. When she finally stopped gasping for breath she looked over and saw that her partner in disaster was (of course it was!) James. He was clutching his eye and trying to walk off the pain. She pulled her hands away from her face and had to laugh when she saw blood. 

“Christ! Are you okay?” He staggered over and offered her a hand up. 

She waved him away, displaying the crimson rivulets dripping down her arms as explanation. “Fine. It’s fine. I’m fine. Really.”

“Are you sure? That’s a lot of blood. Just let me…”

“No, it’s fine, really. This beak of mine is used to it by now. The déjà vu is a little much, though.”

His chuckle was interrupted by the sound of the Horde approaching. 

Her nieces and nephews rounded the corner, took one look at him standing over her bleeding form and their joy turned instantaneously to protective menace. 

“What have you done to Aunt E?!!” She’s not sure who shouted it, Cade maybe? but the next thing she knew was that the children swarmed James, tiny hands punching and little feet kicking any spot they could reach. The Priest was doing his best to ward them off without hurting them, but it was obvious the superior numbers were going to win. 

“Whoa! Whoa! It’s not his fault guys! It was an accident.” She had to yell several times before they heard her, their outrage over the perceived attack drowning out anything to the contrary. 

Clarice turned to her, breathless. “But you’re bleeding. And he was standing over you.”

“We just ran into each other coming around the corner and he accidentally hit my nose. That’s all.”

Clarice looked doubtful until Cade piped up, “Oh yeah! Remember when she was holding baby Arlo and he kicked her in the face and her nose went pshhhhhh and blood went  _ everywhere _ ? It. Was.  _ Brilliant _ !” He enthusiastically mimed what could only be interpreted as a fire hose discharging.

Isla didn’t look convinced and continued to eye the Priest with suspicion. 

“It really was an accident. I’m going to go clean up. You okay Father?” 

“Not…”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. “Brilliant! Come on ruffians. Race you to the back door!”

***

An ice pack, acetaminophen tablets, and a cool shower helped her aching nose immensely. Thankfully, there looked to be no bruising yet, so there should be no embarrassing explanations at the wedding. 

After she dressed and had a quick breakfast, she borrowed the children for a little adventure by a stream that was an easy walking distance from the house. Ostensibly this was to keep them out from under foot while the wedding preparations were happening. In reality… Well, she wouldn’t say that she was avoiding James, exactly. Just that she wasn’t prepared to have another one-on-one conversation with him until...later. Sometime. Much later. Sometime. 

Her plan backfired spectacularly when the children abandoned her to stampede through the woods back to the house, chasing after a local dog, and James appeared at the end of the path back, face lighting up with purpose as soon as he spotted her. 

Bollocks. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma has something to say.

“Shouldn’t you be preparing for the ceremony?”

“All done. Wrote everything right after your godmother called, actually. Didn’t want to be in a rush this time.” His grin was infectious and she smiled back warmly. 

He turned back the way he had come and joined her as she began making her way back to the house. 

“Were you looking for me?” She gave him a sideways glance out of the corner of her eye and caught his tiny smile. 

“Yeah. Wanted to check and see if you were okay after this morning’s collision.”

“Oh yeah, just dandy.”  _ Dandy? Who the fuck says  _ dandy _? _ “That corner is a menace. They should really install a mirror or something. It’s not the first pile-up that’s occurred in that spot. Once, when Isla was a baby…”

He held up a hand to gently interrupt her nervous babble. 

“I, um, hope I didn’t freak you out last night.”

Her first instinct was to deflect with a joke. It was her signature move, after all. Or had been. But she’d put in a lot of work these last ten years and, if he expected to find her unchanged, it was better to disabuse him of that idea now. Also, and she knew it was petty of her, but fuck it, he broke her heart - she did kind of want to poke at him a bit. He couldn’t just sail in and get in the way of  _ her _ peace after a decade of radio silence without some repercussions. 

“It was an unexpected conversation,” she agreed, “but no, I wasn’t ‘freaked out’ by it. Startled, certainly. It’s not every day that someone you had a one night stand with pops back into your life and declares themselves still in love with you.”

He twitched when she said “one night stand” and she could tell it upset him. Too bad. 

“So that kiss last night…?”

She stopped at the edge of the tree line and turned to face him. She could see the hurt in his eyes and, while she could be petty, she wasn’t cruel. 

She took his hands in hers. “It was just a kiss.”

“Oh.”

She tightened her grip and shook his arms a bit. “Not  _ oh _ . Not that way. But I believe I asked for time to think.”

He looked a bit guilty and softly agreed, “You did.”

“And it’s been less than twenty-four hours,” she continued. 

“Uhhhh…”

She gave him a pointed, expectant look. 

“I’ve just waited a long time to see you again and I might be a little...impatient.” At least he had the good sense to look embarrassed about it, otherwise...oh, fuck it. 

“Impatient?” she repeated, incredulous. “You...I... _ impatient _ ? I haven’t heard from you in  _ ten years _ . Ten. Years. And now you’re  _ impatient _ ? You know what? I think I feel a little speech coming on.” His eyes widened and she was gratified to see a flash of something akin to panic in them. Good. He needed to squirm a bit. “Let’s just take a little trip into the past, shall we? After that night, in the confessional? After I poured my heart out to you and you snogged me senseless and you seemed pretty damn keen to take it further than that until that damned painting fell? You went to my father’s house and broke up with him the day before his wedding just to avoid being around me. Then you followed me out to a bus stop and told me that you didn’t want to see me again and that I’m banned from your church.  _ With the greatest of compliments _ , if I recall correctly.” He winced and opened his mouth. “Not done yet.” His mouth closed with a nearly audible snap. “Then you showed up at  _ my _ door less than twenty-four hours later under the guise of explaining to me why you, a  _ Catholic priest _ , couldn’t have sex with me, only to proceed to do just that. And it was…” She can’t help softening at the memory. “It was…” She looked him in the eyes and didn’t shy away from the happiness or the pain the memory still caused on the rare occasion she dusted it off. “It was  _ everything _ . Everything that I never knew I wanted or needed. It was right there. With you. You said that if you had sex with me you would fall in love with me. And you said you did. And I believed you. But I fell in love with you, too. You stayed the night. You pinned me to the side of my father’s house and kissed me. Passionately. Then you followed me out to the same bus stop and told me that you loved me but that you chose god. And you walked away. Again.” She closed her eyes a moment and swallowed down the tears before opening them and whispering, “You told me it would pass and banned me from your church and walked away.” She could see the anguish written in his face but continued before he could interrupt. “You set the terms for our entire relationship, such as it was. And now you show up and expect that I’ll just immediately drop everything to be with you again?”

He shook his head as his expression changed from anguish to denial. “That’s not… I didn’t… It wasn’t up to me.”

“But it was. You stopped me leaving that night at the restaurant and gave me your details. Told me if I needed someone to talk to, you were there. Invited me to the back for tea. Asked me to volunteer at the fête. Then you chased me down to give me a Bible and invited me to come round for a chat. You said you wanted to be friends and asked me shopping for holy dresses. You invited  _ yourself  _ to my café and kept questioning me about myself and my life but refused to answer my questions about yours in any meaningful way.”

“I didn’t invite you to the church that night.”

“You didn’t, that’s true. But I wasn’t there for you.”

The look on his face would have been comical if the situation were different. “Then why…?”

“Why was I there?” He nodded and she took a steadying breath. “I told you. I was trying to have a little prayer.”

“But why? You never said. I assumed…”

“What? That I was looking for you? That I was on the pull? Trying to steal your virtue?”

He nodded cautiously. 

“Sorry, no. Claire and I...we’d had a row a couple of days before. Things had been going better and I’d thought..I’d hoped…well, that we could be friends. That we could mend our relationship. She said... we weren’t…” She sighed. “Doesn’t matter. Then we had our...whatever it was. Spat? At the café. And it reminded me of how I kept losing people over and over. I’d lost mum. I was losing Claire again. And my, my selfishness had killed the only friend I’d ever had.” 

She was surprised when he untangled one of their hands to stroke a thumb down her cheek and saw that it came away wet. She swallowed and shook her head, trying to dispel the sadness. 

“I just started walking and found myself at your church. And I thought, why not? Prayer seemed to work for other people, maybe it could work for me. I knelt down. Folded my hands. Tried to find the words.”

He pulled his remaining hand out of her grip and stroked her face the same way he had a lifetime ago. She leaned in a moment, enjoying the care and warmth, then pulled back. He dropped his hands to his sides. 

“Then I heard your music. Decided I needed to apologize. Maybe explain what had happened. But you stopped me. Asked if I wanted a drink. Then went right back to poking and prodding and questioning me. Always,  _ always _ on your terms.”

He frowned, but couldn’t deny it. Not now. 

“So if we’re going to do this…” She tried to ignore the hope that suddenly appeared on his face. “We’re going to do it on  _ my  _ terms. And I need time.”

He nodded excitedly. “Ok!”

“I mean it. I want to get to know you, properly. I need to take this slowly.”

“I can do that. I swear!”

“Let’s get through today and then…”

“Then?”

“We’ll see what happens next.”

He smiled broadly and offered her his arm. She accepted and they ambled slowly up the path to the house, comfortably silent. 


End file.
